


Flowers for the Dead

by marmaladeSkies



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Sad, Victorian Flower Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29388327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marmaladeSkies/pseuds/marmaladeSkies
Summary: Ashe has a message for Dedue, but it’s not one he can give in person.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 17
Kudos: 23





	Flowers for the Dead

The first time Ashe saw the flower garden at the Gaspard estate, it had been arranged and maintained by servants in such a way that there was never a non-flowering plant present. Tulips, daisies, primroses, and many more were sown, allowed to flower, and then taken out and replaced by the next season’s flowers as soon as their petals dropped. It was popular style of gardening among nobility, he’d been told. It took a lot of money and labor to maintain, so a perfect flower garden was as much a mark of office as it was a thing of beauty.

The day his son was executed, Lonato had ordered it all torn out. Christophe had loved roses, so he’d had roses planted. Hardy, brambly rosebushes that would last for a decade or more if cared for properly. He’d planted white roses, purple roses, roses of a deep crimson, all the shades he could find.

Christophe had no grave, his body having been burned instead of given a proper burial, so Lonato had made a grave of flowers. When he made offerings to the dead, he made them to the roses. When he said a prayer for Christophe’s soul, he spoke to the roses. There were some days he did nothing but spend time among the flowers, telling them news and stories, reading them letters, almost as if he was talking directly to his son.

After a few months, Ashe had quietly asked if he could plant memorial flowers for his parents in the garden. They hadn’t been buried, either. Epidemic victims were rarely afforded that luxury. Lonato had approved; Christophe needed company. And soon, angelica for his mother and clematis for his father joined the roses winding their way around the garden.

When Ashe was at Garreg Mach and two of the servants -siblings orphaned in the chaos that came after the Tragedy of Duscur- disappeared without a trace, Lonato planted holly and spring crocuses.

When Lonato himself was killed, Ashe asked his siblings to plant forget-me-nots.

When Dimitri was executed, he planted chamomile.

Since Dedue would never allow his liege to be killed unless he was himself dead, Ashe planted the few Duscur flowers he had been able to obtain. The purple saxifrage was the most beautiful, in his opinion, but the cushiony moss campions had their own charm. They were hard to keep alive- it was warm in Gaspard territory, and Duscur flowers preferred the cold- but with careful care and attention they could survive.

In Garreg Mach, Ashe had spent many an hour with Dedue discussing flowers. There was a language among the nobility of eastern Faerghus, the man had explained, told through flowers. To send someone a message, all you had to do was give them a bouquet. Even which hand you offered or took it with changed the message, or where a posy was worn on the chest.

Fortunately, Christophe’s roses didn’t mean anything bad, though it was painfully appropriate that the dark crimson ones indicated mourning.

As the year went on, they began leaving flowers for each other. Ashe found a pressed yellow tulip (sunshine in your smile) tucked in one of his books. He left a Morfis plum blossom (longing, good fortune) on Dedue’s desk, and one morning returned to his dorm to find a white camellia (adoration) tucked under his door.

Faerghan nobility saw no meaning in Duscur flowers, so he and Dedue made their own. Purple saxifrage, the edible petals of which tasted bitter at first but quickly became sweet, meant deepening love. Moss campion, which grew slowly and had flowers so small they could only be made into posies and not full-sized bouquets, meant resilience. Cottongrass, often used as ad hoc candles, meant a warm heart and Duscur draba meant strength from adversity.

There was an old story about draba, Dedue explained. The god of deer once tried to bring a small portion of the sun down to the earth to keep his herds warm in winter, but spilled the cup he was carrying it in. The fallen drops of sunlight soaked into the earth and scorched it, forming the barrens that draba liked so much. Each draba blossom was said to be a tiny speck of sunlight trying to return to the sky.

The day the Empire invaded, Dedue called Ashe to the greenhouse and gave him a Duscur draba cutting. Ashe hadn’t been able to propagate it, though he’d tried his hardest, but his sister had been able to make from it a beautiful pressed flower.

In the five years since Dedue’s death, Ashe had taken to continuing the flower messages, albeit in a different manner.

The Duscur religions strictly separated the land of the living and the land of the dead. The dead could not interact with the living, nor the living with the dead, even if the living were simple plants; Dedue had explained once about the great bear that guarded the underworld and devoured anything or anyone who might interrupt the eternal slumber of the spirits under her protection.

So the bouquet he left at Dedue’s flower grave also had to be dead, if he was to receive it. Over the years, Ashe had made for himself a collection of pressed flowers. They were crude and only a few out of every dozen retained their original colors, as Ashe had more or less taught himself how to make them, but they were _his._ If he understood Dedue’s stories correctly, that should ensure his spirit recognized the message as intended.

First, his usual message- a bed of crimson rose petals. Even after all these years, he still mourned Dedue’s passing as strongly as he had when he’d first received the news. On top of them, he layered forget-me-nots and white heather. The latter were late- ideally, a wish for protection would have come _before_ the Empire invaded- but all the same he’d rather they be there than not.

On top of _that_ , as strong a declaration of love as he could make. He layered red roses and tulips for pure love and passion respectively, dwarf sunflowers for adoration, and pink camellias for longing. Daffodils for good regards and white jasmine for amiability. Ending the bundle was a moss campion bloom the size of a fingernail.

The last bundle Ashe laid down had taken hours to decide on, and he still wasn’t certain he’d gotten it correct. If he had a choice, he wouldn’t have to send it at all, but there were no choices when your liege lord came calling. In the end, he had chosen something simple: purple hyacinths and white tulips, to beg for forgiveness. A dandelion, the sigil of House Rowe. And at the center of it all, a single, bright yellow tansy- a declaration of war.

He wiped the dirt from his hands, patted his pocket to make sure the pressed Duscur draba was still there, then turned towards the soldiers waiting to take him to Ailell.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I’m aware that flower language is a biiiit anachronistic for the setting but it’s my fic and I’ll do what I want.
> 
> Prompt: “send your love a bouquet that lets them know you've joined the other side of the war.”


End file.
